


Dead Letter Mail

by HideInMyShadow



Category: Presentable Liberty
Genre: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Swearing, lots of dead bodies, not sure how to tag this to be honest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 04:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7830919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HideInMyShadow/pseuds/HideInMyShadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Dead Letter Mail; mail that cannot be delivered to the addressee or returned to the sender.<i></i></i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i><br/>    <i>After escaping captivity it's time to repay all of the people who sent you letters...one way or another.</i></i><br/>  </p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Letter Mail

**Author's Note:**

> This is my version of a prologue to the ’happier’ ending to Presentable Liberty.  
> It’s been a while since I wrote any fan fiction and I don’t usually write in second person so excuse me if my writing’s a bit awkward. The descriptions are as vague as possible to fit with the nature of the game.
> 
> I am still unsure of what needs to be tagged for this story so please tell me if I missed something.

You don’t know how long you sat there.

Somehow, a night sitting in ‘Charlottes’ Delicious Cakes’ felt longer than a single day in that damn cel- elevator.

You were in an elevator.  
  
The warm colours of morning slowly lit up the small space, making the vivid red stains streaked across the wall glow menacingly. You lean back against the black door, listening to the slight creak of wood as your eyes wondered over the empty street outside. There were no sounds here; no scuttling bugs, no groaning pipes, no ticking clock or sliding of paper….

 

“You’re right Charlotte…it’s way too quiet here…”

 

Your throat might as well have been made of sandpaper, dry and raw after hours of silence and sobbing. The discomfort of talking is a small reminder that you were real, alive, it was almost comforting …almost.   
Your hand wondered to the letter lying at your side, fingers brushing against the elegant handwriting as if doing so could change the meaning of each word.   
Not that it mattered now. 

Gradually you pushed yourself to your feet, careful not to press too hard on the door for fear of opening it. Taking a moment to steady yourself, you make your way towards the front door, breathing in the metallic smell of blood and rot before glancing back with a sad smile. 

 

“Don’t worry Charlotte…I’ll…I’ll be right back.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The sound of wood scrapping against the overly polished floor echoed through the building, sharp and harsh against the usual silence.

“Ugh! Christ Sal, couldn’t you have- unf- found something-… a little lighter to make a table out of?!…What was the postage on this?!”

 

Groaning you almost collapse on your table, huffing out a slight chuckle towards the little bug happily scurrying over the wooden surface. 

“Enjoying the ride little buddy?…Could use a little help y’know…not as strong as I used to be…”

 

 _‘Buddy_ ’…

That word had become bitter sweet after Mr. Smiley’s last letter. Was that even his real name? Probably. 

It would suit Dr. (Fuck-Face) Money’s sick sense of humour;

 _'_ _MR. BUDDY SMILEY! THE DOCTOR’S FAVOURITE HAPPY BUDDY™! A SMILE A DAY KEEPS THE DOCTOR PAYED! HAHAHA!’_

Good ol’ Mr. Smiley…

Wait…

What  _was_  Buddy’s first name?...

 

Sinking down to the floor you lean your head against Sal’s table, staring blankly down as the events of the past few days swirled around your head, bringing a numb mix of anger and despair that was becoming far too familiar.   
You couldn’t think about that, not yet, not before you were as far away from this hell hole as possible. There were too many questions to answer, too many things that needed to be said, too many…what-ifs to consider. 

 

You had to get out of here.

 

You quickly check that your posters and painting were still safely weighted down to the table by Charlotte’s plate and your portable gaming device; you weren’t leaving anything behind…except Dr. Moneys poster. Fuck that.  
Deciding to change strategy you moved behind your table, gradually pushing it towards the exit, finding it easier to use you body weight to move it than your weakened strength- though both were suffering from malnourished at this point.  
Just as you reach the exit you pause in front of a black door, glancing at the small lightning bolt peeking out behind a black sticker. Dr Money had been keen to keep anyone away from your escape route in the cheapest way possible.

 

“…I’ll come back for you Salvador…just wait a little longer, my friend.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Your temporary home was…roomy.

Not big, but it was strange being able to walk more than seven steps to get from one end to the other. You think this may have been an old ladies’ flat, or at least someone who had a taste for tea cosies, porcelain figures and cat litter.  
  
It wasn’t what you would have picked to be honest, especially when there was a large ominous stain in the corner, but the place felt so familiar. Bits and pieces reminded you of pink paper, wild landscapes and fallen leaves; the small figures of workers, families and quaint houses, an un-finished embroidery project, a messy drawing framed above the TV.   
You couldn’t bring yourself to find somewhere else.

Nudging the deliciously tempting cake slightly left you take a step back, happy that your possessions were perfectly placed just as you wanted. The melodic chime of a grandfather clock made you jump, eyes lighting up as you glanced around before you smothered the slight hope in your heart. It was just a clock, it didn’t sound anything like…  
The clock chimes ten times before falling silent.  
You sigh heavily. You had to go back soon- you owed them that.

Collecting the three bed sheets you’d found in the cupboard and shoving them into a dully coloured bag for life, you pick up a set of keys and lock the door behind you, ready to head back down the street towards the impossibly tall building.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You go to Charlotte first.

You’d promised her you’d be right back, you knew how lonely she’d get if you didn’t.

You’d already worked out how you’d do this without upsetting her. Despite how much you wanted to have a solid memory to connect to those letters you couldn’t go against her wishes. Swallowing you squeeze your eyes shut tighter than necessary, pushing down the burning sensation rising at the corners of your eyes and ignoring your churning stomach.  
Clutching at the bed sheet close to your chest you shakily reach down to the door handle and turn it, listening to the groan and click of metal as you carefully push the door open. Taking a few calming breaths you kneel down, grimacing, to trace your hand over the ground until you feel a disgusting texture of drying liquid, bile rising in your throat at the sticky feeling. 

You shuffle blindly, following the path that you forced your hand to trace for a few minutes until your thumb brushes against something cold. Flinching back you beg yourself not to open your eyes, to breathe through your mouth, to ignore the reality that your senses were crushing you with. 

 

You stay like that for what feels like an hour before unfolding the sheet and covering your hands. With your hands safely protected by the light cotton you leaned forward and gently felt for the cold…thing you’d found. After a moment of fumbling you finally made contact.  
You follow the coldness, it’s shape slowly leading you to-

…a hand. 

 

Choking on something you couldn’t place you squeezed it tightly, subconsciously taking note of the bone structure, shape and weight through the fabric. It remained still. 

“Ch-Char-lotte…?” you croak, voice cracking slightly.

 

The eerie silence of the room continued.

 

You lick your lips, biting down on your bottom lip as you forced yourself to breath. Just breathe. 

“I-…I need to get you out of here, ok? S-Sorry, this is probably a weird first impression but um…heh, I don’t know how to…”

 

Shaking your head you carefully trace up Charlotte’s arm to her shoulder, softly shifting under her neck to lift her head slightly. You wonder if her hair is soft, you can’t tell through the fabric but you hope so; the ground was far too hard to be comfortable. You tuck the fabric under her, making sure to be as respectful as you can and apologising each time you think you’ve overstepped your bounds.

Your progress is slow, the bed sheet gradually wrapping around the bakers body, safely cocooning it and covering each feature.   
You almost touch her face but quickly decide against it.

 

Once you are sure that everything is securely in place you lift Charlotte up to your chest, leaning her against you as the few tears you had left fell silently. You press your face to the top of her head, cheek squished against the bundle in your arms as your hold becomes more constricting.

You feel like you should say something but you can’t bring yourself to utter a word.

But Charlotte understands.   
You know she does.

Sometimes words just weren’t enough…

 

You don’t open your eyes until you’re both outside.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You leave the flat with two bed sheets left after making sure Charlotte was comfortably seated in a large armchair. You left a record player playing a little blues, promising to find her some better music later.

You check that the door is securely locked before turning away. 

It was time to meet an old friend…

 

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Phew- whole chapter completed!
> 
> I'm basing the dialogue for this story on my reactions to the game along with many Youtubers [markiplier, jacksepticeye, LordMinion777].  
> This story was heavily influenced by the Let’s Dub Presentable Liberty series by Let’s Dub Project- I recommend checking it out!
> 
> Thank you for reading.


End file.
